


Captive

by TheManicMagician



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Bad Touch Ardyn, Blood Kink, M/M, Poor Prompto, Prompto says fuck a lot, Set during Prompto's kidnapping, Verbal Abuse, for good reason
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-07
Updated: 2019-03-07
Packaged: 2019-11-13 04:38:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18024845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheManicMagician/pseuds/TheManicMagician
Summary: Prompto is captured by Ardyn, and the chancellor decides to have a little fun with his prize.





	Captive

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lhugy_for_short](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lhugy_for_short/gifts).



> Disclaimer: I haven't played Episode Prompto yet, so please excuse any inaccuracies! 
> 
> This is a gift for Lhugy_for_short, who requested some eeevil Ardyn/Prompto noncon. I was happy to oblige. Hope you enjoy :)

“Poor thing. You really tried your best, didn’t you?”

Prompto glares up at Ardyn. He’d flip the man off if he could, but the chancellor has bound his hands behind his back with a thick, unyielding rope. After dragging him onto an airship, Ardyn had tied him up, with an expert’s hand. Gladio had taught him how to work his way free of simple knots, but he knows there’ll be no getting free of these bonds without some assistance. His fingers are already buzzing from the lack of circulation.

Ardyn had caught him by surprise, distracted as he’d been with thoughts of reuniting with his friends. There’s a ball of blood in Prompto’s mouth, and he’s pretty sure at least one of his ribs is broken. All Ardyn has to show for their altercation is a split lip.

Ardyn takes Prompto’s chin between his fingers, tilting his face up to inspect him, like he’s a cut of meat at a market.

“You were so easily overpowered. So terribly weak. Why did they bother bringing you along on such an arduous journey? For your pretty face?”

Prompto spits at him. A mixture of blood and saliva spatters Ardyn’s cheek.

The chancellor’s eyes flicker to a sallow yellow. His veins throb visibly beneath his skin, and then blue darkens to black. The transformation is inhuman—daemonic.

“What _are_ you?” Prompto asks, horrified.

Ardyn wipes off Prompto’s blood with two fingers. He stares down at them for a moment, before he lifts his hand and sucks the blood off each digit. He savors the taste, and his expression turns euphoric.

Prompto’s nose wrinkles with disgust. Gods, what a sicko.

“Why, I’m something not entirely human, much like yourself. I thought you would have more sympathy for a kindred soul.”

“Fat chance.”

Ardyn grasps him harshly by the roots of his hair, and drags him into a kneeling position.

“There is time yet until we reach our destination. In the meantime, you can entertain me.”

Ardyn unzips his pants, freeing his growing erection. He strokes himself off right in front of Prompto’s face.

“Open wide now,” Ardyn coos. “And don’t bite. Or I’ll thumb out those pretty little eyes.”

Fucking fuck. This is utterly revolting. Humiliating. His fists curl tight, nails biting into the meat of his palms. Endure it. This won’t kill you. There’s more at stake than your pride.

Prompto opens his mouth a little, reluctantly. Ardyn hooks a finger inside, and wedges his mouth open wider before he shoves himself in.

Prompto gags around his girth, his eyes watering instinctively. It’s not like he and Gladio have never fooled around before, but his boyfriend always eases himself inside, takes the time to make sure Prompto is doing okay.

Ardyn takes no such precautions. Keeping one hand fisted in Prompto’s hair, he fucks Prompto’s mouth. He hilts himself entirely, his dick scraping the back of Prompto’s throat. Then he pulls out until his cockhead is between Prompto’s teeth, as if daring him to bite down, before he shoves himself all the way in again.

Prompto stares up, looking at the lights above them rather than anywhere near Ardyn. Don’t think about it. Don’t think about the hot member sliding roughly in and out of your mouth, the tiniest spark of arousal between your hips. Don’t _think about it_. He’ll finish soon, surely.

To his surprise, Ardyn abruptly pulls out of him entirely. He slaps his hard dick almost lazily against Prompto’s cheek, making his skin sticky with spit and precum.

“Must you be so dull and unresponsive?” Ardyn complains. “If I wanted to bed a soulless automaton, I would simply have requisitioned one of your brothers from the labs.”

If a reaction is what Ardyn wants, then Prompto’s not going to give it to him. The chancellor knows exactly which buttons to press, but Prompto keeps his mouth clamped shut, and his disinterested gaze glued to the floor.

Ardyn does not take kindly to being ignored.

He kicks Prompto, and _shit_ , if that rib wasn’t broken before, it definitely is now. He curls on his side, chewing his lower lip to keep from howling.

“Don’t hold back, darling. I want to hear you _scream_.”

There’s a flash of steel, and then a sharp sting across Prompto’s chest. He can’t help but cry out. Ardyn’s cut him, not near deep enough to be fatal, but enough to slice through his shirt and raise a thin line of blood.

Ardyn lifts his sword to his mouth, and tastes the blood it captured. He seems to relish in Prompto’s revulsion with his antics.

“What a lovely picture you paint.” Ardyn palms his cock again, stroking faster. The second taste of Prompto’s blood has excited him further.

With a strangled gasp, Ardyn climaxes. Prompto flinches as his face is sprayed with ropes of cum.

Ardyn tucks himself away, and takes a moment to catch his breath. He kneels down beside Prompto, running a finger across the crotch of his pants. Prompto isn’t hard, and Ardyn seems almost disappointed to learn that.

“Should I return the favor?” Ardyn wonders.

 _Try it and I’ll fucking kick you_ , Prompto thinks, viciously.

Ardyn laughs at his glower, and after a warning squeeze, he lets Prompto go.

“Later, perhaps. If you’re so fortunate.”

Ardyn saunters off, then, meandering further inside the airship, leaving Prompto alone.

Prompto shifts his position clumsily until his cheek is pressed to the cold metal of the ship’s hull. He scrapes his face against it, trying to remove all the traces of Ardyn that he can without the aid of his hands.

As clean as he can be, Prompto scooches down to rest on the floor, taking pressure off his ribs. His tongue runs over his teeth, and he grimaces at the bitter taste Ardyn left behind.

At least if Ardyn is here, preoccupied with tormenting him, the others are safe. Ardyn doesn’t care about him, not really; Noctis is his priority. And anything is better than letting that creepy fuckface get his hands on his best friend.

~*~

Again, Prompto flexes his wrists. Despite his consistent attempts to loosen the straps that bind his hands to this weird cross-thing Ardyn put him on, the leather has remained stiff and unyielding. All he’s gotten is two chafed wrists for his trouble, even though his right wrist has some protection thanks to his ever-present wristband. Still, he’s not giving up. Maybe if he rubs his wrists hard enough to draw blood, the lubrication will allow him to slip a hand free. Happy thoughts, Prompto.

The door to his prison opens with a low whine, and Prompto stills. He glares into the smug face of his captor. He used to feign sleep whenever Ardyn visited him, but the chancellor had always seen right through his ruse.

“I bring good tidings for you, my MT friend.” Ardyn hums as he strolls around the room. “Your companions have finally made their way inside Zegnautus Keep, and are ardently searching high and low for you. It’s only a matter of time before your rescue.”

Prompto schools his expression, keeping his face carefully neutral. Ardyn could very well be lying to him; the man’s conniving smile never falters, and he’s taken delight before in tricking them. But Prompto dares to hope that he’s telling the truth, that his friends are actually here. It’s been days—weeks?—and he’d started to think they’d never come. That he’d be stuck here forever, forced to endure Ardyn’s unwanted touches. But that had just been the despair talking. Of course they’d never forget about him. Of course they still want him.

“A pity that we should be parted so soon.” Ardyn cups Prompto’s cheek, his thumb stroking his skin. “I haven’t yet had my fill.”

Ardyn leans in. Prompto instinctively tries to jerk away from him, but he’s lashed down tight. Ardyn kisses him firmly. Prompto closes his eyes and tries not to think about the tongue inside his mouth.

“Don’t misconstrue my actions.” Ardyn warns, as he tenderly strokes Prompto’s cheek. “All that I do to you, inflict upon you, it means nothing to me. You’re nothing. But you’re something of value to the chosen king, and that is why you suffer.”

“Go to hell.” Prompto spits. “What is your problem with him? Noctis never even did anything to you.”

Something dark flashes in Ardyn’s eyes, and then Prompto’s head is ringing from the aftermath of a resounding strike across his face.

“Do not speak of what you do not know.”

Ardyn’s composure is cracking apart. Prompto stiffens, wonders if this might be the moment when Ardyn stops tolerating his mouth and wraps his hands around his throat.

But Ardyn only lets his breath out in a slow rush, and leaves the room.

~*~

“Prom. Oi, Prompto!”

His eyes fly open at the familiar voice. His heart nearly stops from shock and relief, because Ardyn had been telling the truth after all, because the man standing before him is—

“Gladio?” Prompto’s voice quavers. Raspy from disuse. He wishes he could pinch himself to make sure he’s not dreaming.

“Yeah, it’s me.”

Gladio is a sweaty, filthy mess. His jacket is ripped in several places, and there’s week-old stubble on his face. He looks like he’s been through a fight or ten to get here, but his brown eyes are bright and sure, and Prompto knows he’s going to be okay.

“Where are Noct and Iggy?”

Gladio pulls a knife out of his boot and carefully slips it between Prompto’s wrist and the leather band. He begins to saw through the restraint, his mouth set in a grim line.

“We got split up once we got inside. This place is a damn maze.”

Prompto bites his lip. Noctis is their charge, and Ardyn arranged this whole thing in order to trap him. Ardyn could very well be on his way right now to engage Noctis. And Ignis...He’s better than he was, but he can still barely walk, let alone fight. The idea of Ignis lost and alone in the enemy’s stronghold makes him nauseous.

“There,” Gladio grunts, triumphant, as the strap at last gives way. Prompto lets his hand drop to his side, with a great sigh of relief. His arm is stiff from being held in one position for so long. He flexes his fingers, his limb buzzing as blood rushes back into it. Gladio makes short work of the other strap, and then the ones on his legs, and finally Prompto is free.

Gladio takes Prompto’s bare hand in his own, examining his tender wrist. His face darkens with guilt.

“How’s the other one?”

Prompto picks at the wristband.

“The same.”

“I’m sorry it took so long to get to you.”

He’d been starting to think they were never going to come.

Prompto forces a smile, trying his best to inject some humor into his tone.

“Yeah, try to be a bit faster next time I get kidnapped by an evil chancellor, will ya? He didn’t even give me sudoku puzzles or anything.”

“Prompto.”

He looks up, and Gladio is suddenly right in front of him. He tilts Prompto’s chin up, and kisses him tenderly. Prompto melts into it, soaking up the easy affection. He needs this. After days and days of Ardyn pawing at him, he needs to be reminded of how it’s supposed to be, how he’s supposed to feel.

When Gladio breaks the kiss, he presses his forehead against Prompto’s.

“There won’t be a next time. I’m not letting you out of my sight ever again.”

Warmth curls in Prompto’s chest. He worries, though, if Gladio will still hold true to his sentiments when Prompto tells him the truth of who he is. Prompto picks at the edge of his wristband, debates getting it all out of the way now—but he can’t make himself form the words. He doesn’t think he’ll be able to get through the story more than once. And finding the others should be their top priority right now.

“We need to move.”

Prompto nods. He calls his favored gun, Rebellion, to his palm.

He looks down. His palm is empty.

It’s just the stress and exhaustion getting to him, surely. He tries again. The gun doesn’t appear. He tries to grab onto an old pole arm, a sword, Noctis’ damn fishing rod. Nothing works.

“Gladio,” Prompto croaks, panic mounting, “Gods, I can’t—the armory isn’t working?” Does this mean that Noctis really does hate him, and has severed their connection? Or even worse, what if it means that Ardyn already found Noctis and—

“Noct is fine.” Gladio assures him, firmly. “But I can’t summon my weapons either. It’s this place, there’s something strange about it. But he’s okay. If he were dead, I’d know. We’d know.”

“Yeah,” Prompto nods along, because he wants to believe him. “Yeah.”

“Let’s go.” Gladio keep his knife drawn. It’s pathetically small-looking in his large hand. “Stay behind me and stick close.”

In no mood to protest, Prompto follows after Gladio through the maze of hallways. Prompto is tensely wound, waiting for something to leap out and attack them. But the halls are eerily empty. There are no people, no daemons. Just the two of them navigating through this quiet space.

Eventually they encounter someone else; or rather, something. A fallen MT trooper is sprawled out over the floor, face down, its axe several feet from its hand. Gladio nudges its head with the tip of his boot. No response. Gladio shrugs, and moves past it.

But when Prompto crosses by, the MT suddenly sparks to life, its eyes blazing red. It grips Prompto’s leg tightly and clamps its metal teeth down on his calf.

“Shit!” Prompto yelps. He punches at the MT’s head, but only succeeds in bruising his knuckles. He tries to pry its jaws apart, but it just keeps holding on. The teeth break through his skin even with his pants in the way, and he feels warm blood spill down his leg to soak his sock.

“Gladio!”

He throws a desperate look over at his boyfriend. But Gladio is just...standing there. Watching him struggle, his knife held loosely in one hand.

What the hell? “Gladio, _help me_!”

Prompto staggers back, trying to drag himself away from the MT with one leg. He can’t keep his balance, and topples to the floor. The MT clambers on top of him, its body a heavy weight. It doesn’t react to Prompto’s kicks and shoves. It holds the axe aloft, ready to bring it down on Prompto’s skull.

“Get off of me!” Prompto shrieks. “Get off!”

Gladio’s knife is thrown with deadly precision, nailing the MT square in the middle of its soulless eyes.

The axe clatters to the ground, and the MT falls bonelessly atop him. Prompto pushes the thing off of him, his whole body trembling.

“That was a fun little jaunt we had, wasn’t it?” The voice that comes from Gladio’s mouth is wrong, all wrong. Light and teasing, the voice that’s plagued his thoughts and nightmares since he was dragged to this damned keep.

“You bastard.”

“I think it’s a rather clever bit of magic, myself,” There’s a shimmer in the air, and in Gladio’s place is Ardyn. “It took me nearly three decades to perfect.”

As Ardyn steps closer to him, his form shifts, changing again.

Noctis crouches down in front of him, a cruel smirk twisting his mouth.

“Come now. Why so upset? You had to know it was a fantasy. Why would Gladiolus look for you, first? Do you truly believe the king’s Shield would put your well being before that of his liege?” He laughs. “You can’t think he sincerely loves you.”

“Fuck you.” Prompto snarls. The monster wearing Noctis’ face knows _nothing_ about them. He wasn’t there for all the private smiles and late night conversations. The way Gladio looks at him sometimes, so soft and open, like he’s someone treasured and important and _loved_.

Noctis rolls his eyes. “Fine, then. Suppose he does love you. Even if that’s true, you’ll always be number two. The king will always have priority. If he ever has to choose between you, he won’t hesitate. Next to Noctis, you’re nothing.”

In one fluid motion, Prompto rips the dagger free from the MT’s head and rushes at Noctis. He knows Ardyn is quicker, but he doesn’t even try to move away, instead letting Prompto sink the knife hilt deep into his stomach.

Noctis releases a puff of air, and trails a hand along the hilt of the dagger. His hand comes away red.

“Prompto?” Noctis whispers out, betrayed. He looks up at him, eyes glassy and lost.

Prompto flinches back violently. It’s fake, it’s a trick, he _knows_ that, but it’s still Noctis in front of him, bleeding out from a blow he delivered.

The bright blue of Noctis’ eyes turns yellow, the black of his hair reddening. He’s partway between Noctis and Ardyn, and Prompto never realized the many similarities of their facial features before now.

“Tell me, Prompto dear. Who were you trying to kill? Myself? Or him?”

“Would you shut up already—?” Prompto swings at him, wanting to punch that insufferable smirk off his face.

Ardyn, quick as a snake, catches him by the wrist. He drops the visage of Noctis entirely, returning to his own features.

“Oh, did I strike a nerve?”

Ardyn bends his wrist. Up, up. Prompto tries to yank his arm away, terrified, to no avail. The pressure is too much—the delicate bones of his wrist crunch and crack.

Ardyn releases him, then, and Prompto cradles his broken wrist to his chest.

He scrambles back, putting distance between them. He has to make a run for it. He’s weaponless, injured, and very outclassed.

But then Ardyn is looming over him, a sword sparking to life in his hand—and what _the hell_ was that glimmer of magic, it’s just like Noctis’ armiger—and he brings down the pommel of his blade on the back of Prompto’s head, and he knows no more.   


End file.
